I can’t think of a more fitting way to kick off Mental Health Awareness Month than by sharing the first essay I ever wrote about my first panic attack—and the chronic anxiety that followed. I wrote it in 2014, while I was an editor at HarpersBazaar.com (it was recently removed from the site, so I wanted to preserve it here). It was the height of the personal essay boom—first-person stories were going viral on Facebook, and we were always looking for more. So I volunteered to write about my experience with anxiety.
At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the leap I was taking in sharing something so personal. It was one thing for people to know that I had anxiety, but to share the origin story was far more vulnerable—it wasn’t something I openly talked about. I felt it could be an important moment, given how much stigma still existed around anxiety, but a part of me was nervous about how it would be received—would people think I was crazy?
In reality, the response was overwhelmingly positive—so many people shared that they saw themselves in my story. Friends from high school and college had reached out to me, opening up about their own struggles. Sure, a few Facebook comments took issue with my use of medication, but I wasn’t as phased by that. What stayed with me was that when I opened up, others felt safe to share their experiences as well.
That’s when it clicked. There was a real need for stories about mental health.
Anxiety is one of those experiences that, unless you’ve lived it, is almost impossible to truly relate to. And even then, it’s deeply personal—the triggers, the way it moves through the body. To an outsider—or even someone who doesn’t share your particular flavor of anxiety—it can look like an irrational worry. But from within, it can hijack you, pulling you into a spiral you don’t fully understand.
It’s been twelve years since I wrote this essay below, and anxiety is something I will likely always live with. It ebbs and flows—sometimes it feels crushing, other times almost nonexistent. Over the years, my anxiety has also shapeshifted. At times, it feels like playing a game of whack-a-mole—just as I get one fear under control, another appears. But at the core, the thread that has remained consistent is my discomfort with being out of control, especially where my emetophobia is concerned. That’s still a topic I find too uncomfortable to unpack publicly—but it’s something I’m actively working on in therapy.